He roared with laughter, his belly shaking. "You just sapped my man Flick," he said finally. "That's all." Then all the mirth went out of his tone and he said, "Besides, I don't like none of Sader's hands till we get this straightened out."
"I'm not one of Sader's boys."
He lifted bushy eyebrows. "Of course not," he said sarcastically. Then to Flick, "Tie him and the girl up. Maybe they talk better that way."
Flick grinned. "A pleasure," he said.
Shenandoah went out and came back in a moment with a length of rope. Flick took a small knife from his pocket and cut off a chunk of the line.
"You first," he said to me. "Sap me, huh? You won't mind if I cut off a little circulation, huh, Scott?"
There was no point in answering. Shenandoah brought over the two wooden chairs he and Lonely Wagner had been sitting in, and five minutes later Iris and I were bound to the chairs with our hands behind our backs.
Flick stepped in front of us when he'd finished knotting the ropes. He looked at me, then took a good look at Iris. With her arms stretched behind her she had a shape that would bruise your eyeballs, and Flick took it all in. He stepped over to her, reached out, and pinched her lightly where he had no business pinching.
"Hi, cutey," he said romantically.
Iris' face flushed and she sucked in her breath. She didn't say a word for a moment, just looked at him. Then she said flatly, "Untie just one of my hands and I'll knock you down."
He flushed. She'd hurt his feelings. "Why, you bitch," he said. "I had better than you the last two nights in a row."
"Flick! Knock it off." It was Breed. He grinned at Flick and added, "Remember, boy. Business before pleasure."
Flick grinned widely, looked down at Iris, and pinched her again. Only this time it wasn't for kicks; he hurt her. She turned her head to the side, biting her lip.
I lunged toward him and got about two inches, the ropes biting into my wrists. The back legs of the chair I was sitting in tilted up, angled forward, and I watched the floor come up and smack me in the kisser.
You great big hero, Scott. Go ahead; bite his foot.
Shenandoah and Lonely grabbed the chair when they stopped laughing. They tilted me back upright and I saw Iris looked in my direction. She didn't say anything, but she wrinkled her nose and blinked her eyes at me.
Breed slid his swivel chair around in front of us, gripping the arms of his chair and grunting as he dug his rubber heels against the floor, moving like a man in a wheel chair. He chuckled a little at me, then said, "Calm down, Scott. You might as well be reasonable. I guess you can see you're going no place, boy." He roared some more, then stopped laughing. "Where's Sader, Scott?"
"I don't know."
"You work for him, Scott. You know where he'd be, boy."
"Damn it, Breed," I said wearily. "Can't you get it into your head I don't know where he is? That I don't work for him?"
Breed pushed thick lips forward and back, then looked over my head and nodded. I couldn't twist around, but I could see Flick and Shenandoah across the room on my left, and Harry and Joe-Joe leaning up against Breed's desk. I couldn't see the other guy, but I found out where he was.
At almost the same instant that Breed nodded, something slammed into the back of my head and pain shot from my skull down into the back of my neck. Breed's face blurred for a moment in front of my eyes, then limped back into focus.
I shook my head and said, "Hold on, Breed. Listen to me. I'm not working for Sader. I never—"
Breed's eyes flicked up over my head again right in the middle of the sentence. He seemed to be enjoying himself.
Wham! Harder this time. Pain exploded in my skull and throbbed and swelled, then died, swelling up again each time my heart pumped. The lights dimmed and hot sickness swelled in my throat. I started to reach up to my head and my right hand scraped on the rope that tied it. I shut my eyes for a few seconds and let my head hang down on my chest.
I heard Breed's voice saying dimly, "Not too much muscle, Lonely. Keep the bastard awake."
I raised my head and looked at Breed. I was so Goddamned mad I'd have jumped him with a toothpick if I hadn't been tied. I don't like punks messing with me or trying to shove me around in the first place. But these guys weren't trying; they were doing it. And tied up like this, there was nothing I could do about it except dream. Even untied, I'd have had to dream or get shot.
Breed stuck his fat red face up close to me and smiled. "How is it, boy? Better? Now, you're a smart fellow, Scott. Get just a little smarter and you'll be O.K."
I took a big lungful of air and said, "Listen, Breed. Can I ask you one question without getting slammed on the head?"
He wiggled his lips. "One."
"What makes you think I'm tied in with Sader?"
"You want that answered?"
I nodded and decided next time to answer yes or no. Rivers of fire trickled up and down my neck and skull.
He said, "Flick told me you were down at the Pit when Sader powdered. We know he was there, but we didn't know you were. Simple, boy."
"And that means I'm on Sader's side?"
"It does to me. Besides, I know you were checking up on the Slauson parlor for Sader back when he was trying to get a line on our take. You weren't nice to my boy Lobo."
So he not only knew about that business, but he also knew that I'd been checking for Marty. I wasn't in the best possible position. I said, "Look, Breed. I'll admit I did that checking for Sader—and didn't find out a thing—but that was the end of our relationship. It was just a job he hired me for, because I'm supposed to be good, and I didn't inquire into his reasons. Hell, that's my business: I'm for hire. But I swear positively I haven't done business with Sader, or for him, since."
Breed just looked at me, not speaking.
I hadn't been hit on the head for a good thirty seconds now, so I asked, "Why do you want to see Sader?" and waited for the ax to fall. It had felt like an ax.
It didn't fall. Instead Breed wiggled his head, his fat cheeks swinging. "You know why, Scott."
"Lobo?"
"That's right, Lobo. Sader's got to—explain about that. Maybe you can explain for me."
"Maybe. You think Sader did that job?"
"That's what you tell me right now. Unless you want some more lumps first." He paused and leaned forward slightly, then added some more words I didn't like a bit "Or did you do the job for him, Scott?"
Me? Sweet Christ! I hadn't even guessed Breed might think I'd killed his boy. I could understand how Breed might have got the impression I was on Sader's team, but now he was jumping too far to his conclusions. I didn't say anything for a moment. Obviously, if Breed felt very confident that I'd killed Lobo, I wouldn't still be living—and he seemed primarily concerned with locating Sader. Apparently, then, he thought Sader had killed Lobo, but wasn't positive and was still working on it. I could clear up that part for him—and I wasn't worrying about Sader—but where did that leave me? If I filled in all the little details of Lobo's death, describing how and where it had happened as described for me by Iris, Breed was almost sure to think that the only reason for my knowing all about it was because I was one of Sader's sidekicks—or else had actually helped pull off the kill. And even if he didn't think I'd been a party to the murder, Breed gave me the definite impression that no friend of Sader's was likely to live long. Particularly once Breed was positive Sader had finished Lobo. I felt somewhat ill. Well, it had been a short, happy life.
I said, "If I could prove to you that Sader killed Lobo, what then? What about the girl and me?"
"Why, you can go then," he said smoothly. He lied easily, without batting an eyelash. He went on, "Just tell us and you can go, Scott, old man."
It was a sweet deal. I knew damned well he was lying, and he knew I did. I pushed a few vagrant thoughts through the pain in my head. Finally I said, "He killed Lobo, all right, Breed. But I didn't—remember I can't finish this if I'm unconscious—I didn't know about it till late
today."
I was acutely aware of Lonely, still standing behind me, but apparently now that Breed had me started he was content to let me talk. And I was fairly sure he expected me to lie. I crossed him up: I told him the truth.
"No matter what you think, Breed, you've got the wrong angle on me and the girl. Here's what really happened and got us into this thing." I told him about the shots at me and sketched in most of what had happened to me this day. I added enough of what Iris had told me so he'd get the background, brought him up to the point where Sader had left the Pit, then I said, "Iris and I were sort of between two fires—Sader and you. We went out the room next to Sader's office, through the club, and around to the elevator. Then I sapped Flick and we took off. That's all we've got to do with Sader."
Breed stared at me coldly.
I said, "Don't you get it, Breed? We knew Sader had bumped Lobo, and for that reason he wanted to kill us. We could tell the cops or we could prove it to you. As long as you weren't sure, maybe Sader could talk you out of any rough stuff. But we could prove it on him. Make sense?"
"About Lobo it makes sense," Breed said. And the way he looked at me it appeared I hadn't been convincing enough. He added in a coaxing, gentle tone, "And he wants to kill you, so you drop in to see him?"
"Damn it, Breed! I told you he had Iris. I told you what the score was. How stupid—"
Breed looked over my head in a way I was getting to know, nodded pleasantly, and looked back at my face to see what changes might take place in it.
I hunched my shoulders involuntarily and thought, Oh, Jesus Christ, here it comes again, here it. . .
It was the last of the ninth, two away, and the bases were loaded. The Shell Scott Flatheads needed one run to win. With two strikes on me, I stood at the plate scowling at a pitcher with a fat red face, drooping jowls, and a big jelly belly. He picked up a bazooka and fired a fast one right over the plate. I leaned forward and got my flat head in the way, and the ball met my head with a soft, squishy sound. I straightened up as the umpire bawled, 'Take a walk!"
The crowd went wild.
I fell forward flat on my face.
I kept falling and falling and falling and finally I slowed down. I huffed and I puffed and I cracked my eyes and I looked at a round shiny thing an inch from my nose. It was a button. Well, well, I thought, a button.
And then I heard voices. Finally it got to me and I remembered where I was. Breed was talking again. I wanted my hands loose. I wanted it so badly. I wanted to reach up and see if my head was really flat.
I could see Breed now, but there were two of him, one blending into the other. I couldn't see very well, and I felt like the losing gladiator, but I remembered everything. At least, I thought I did. Maybe I wasn't thinking right, at that. It occurred to me that if I'd forgotten anything, I wouldn't be able to remember it because I'd forgotten it. I went over that again and decided I'd been hit on the head pretty hard.
And it seemed that I'd had the glimmerings of an idea just before the baseball hit me on the head. Or whatever it was that hit me. Ah, Lonely it was. I'd kill Lonely, that's what. That would fix him. I wished I could remember what the hell that idea had been. It seemed I was going to talk my way out of here. Right out of this place and into the sweet cool air.
Sure. I didn't need to feel my head; now I knew it was flat.
Breed was saying, "Scott, old man. You feel better now, don't you, Scott?"
I got my mouth open and finally he went back to one man. Shenandoah and Flick and hairy Harry and Joe the Joe solidified in the background. My eyes were focusing, but I still couldn't remember. I said, "Sure, Breed. Feel fine and dandy. Love it. Hit me again."
He chuckled. "You'll tell us where to find Sader now, won't you, boy?"
Oh, Christ. Back there again. He just wouldn't believe me. And right then and there I remembered what I'd been trying to remember.
"Breed," I said. "I'm groggy. Lay off a minute. How about a glass of water?" I had to have a little time to think. Another few bats on the skull and I wouldn't be able to think of my name.
"You ready to talk?"
"I'm ready for a drink of water. I can't even think straight."
Breed chuckled, then nodded at somebody behind me. I thought, Oh, no! but he was just sending Lonely for water. I'd won a big point.
Lonely came back with the glass and I got to see his ugly puss for the first time since he'd taken up his stance behind my chair.
I said to him, "Hello there, you gruesome, stinking son of a bitch," and he threw the water in my face. Glass and all.
That wasn't what I'd planned, but I jerked my head and the glass barely skimmed my cheek and some of the water splashed my face.
Breed shoved himself up out of his chair and stood over me. "I'm an impatient man, Scott, and my patience is all gone. No more funny stuff. Let's have it."
I didn't say anything. I didn't know where Sader was, but I was finally thinking.
Breed turned to Flick. "Work on the girl. Maybe that'll get him started."
Flick said, "Sure, thanks," walked over in front of Iris, and grinned at her for a moment. She looked straight back at him. Then he slapped her twice, hard, with his open hand whipping across her cheeks.
Her head snapped back and forth, the long red hair swirling around her neck. After a moment she glanced at me, then back up at Flick, her bright red lips curling. She didn't say a word, but what she thought of Flick was spread all over her face.
He drew back his right arm, doubled up the fist, his lips peeled back.
"Hold it!" I yelled. "Stop him, Breed. I'll tell you."
Breed snapped a word at Flick just in time. Then he turned to me and said. "This better be good, Scott."
"You win," I said. "You're right. I've been working for Sader."
Chapter Thirteen
BREED let out a sigh, but Flick turned and looked at me, his lips still peeled back. I think he was sorry I'd opened my mouth.
Breed came back and squeezed his monstrous behind down into the chair in front of me. His voice was smooth and pleasant as he said, "It's about time, Scott." He chuckled. "You know what? I thought we were going to have to kill you."
I said, "You were right all the way down the line. I've been working for Sader for months. Everything I told you before was a lie."
"I knew you were lying." He shook his head and said, "Scott, I've heard about you and your fancy talk, but that don't go with me, boy. What made you think I'd swallow a dumb story like that one you give me?"
I didn't even try to answer that. I had the germ of an idea; a lot of unrelated information was combining in my brain, but I needed a little more. Just a little—and a little more time.
I said, "Tell me this, Breed." I buttered him up some more. "You're supposed to be pretty smart. You're the top man in this neck of the woods. Now, can you tell me this? Why would Sader want me?"
He frowned a little, then got out one of his cigars, bit off the end, and got it lighted. "Some extra muscle, maybe," he said finally. "He's got delusions of grandeur. He thinks he can buck me, but," he chuckled, "I guess you know he's wrong, huh, Scott?"
"Yeah. I know it."
I had to feed anything I had into my spiel as I went along. I was fiddling around, talking, lining up in my mind what I wanted to say, and it was getting clearer. There didn't appear to be a chance in a hundred that I could talk my way out of this, but if it worked, I was going to buy myself a medal.
"O. K.," I said. "So Sader's got delusions of grandeur, like you mentioned. As a matter of fact, Breed, he figures to take over your spot."
He didn't give me a double take or anything like it. He said, "Keep talking. Tell me something I don't know. But how stupid can Sader get? I got this territory; I got the whole combination behind me. He can't buck that, Scott."
"Sader must think he can."
"He's got a screw loose, then."
I grinned. It wasn't easy, but I lifted my lips. I said, "If you weren't around, it'd
be easier, wouldn't it? Keep that in mind for a minute, Breed. I'd like to make a deal with you."
He shook his head.
I shrugged. Or rather I started to, but the ropes grabbed me. I asked, "How about loosening these things? Or untying my hands? They're cutting off the blood."
"Keep talking."
"All right, how about a deal, Breed? Let the girl go. I'm on the inside with Sader. I know his operations; I can get you damn near anything you want. Let the girl go and I'm your boy." If he could lie to me, I'd lie right back at him.
He said harshly, "No deal, no nothing. You maybe stay alive if you're very co-operative. You better make up your mind."
"It's made up. You want Sader? O. K. I wasn't kidding before—I don't know for sure where he is. But I can get him for you. And I guess you know he's got dough, got a lot of money."
"He should have. He's cutting into my take."
"Sure. He keeps a lot of it in the club. In the Pit."
The greed that had pushed him into the rackets flickered momentarily in his eyes. "Yeah? Who says so?"
"I do. I know where the safe is, but I don't know the combination. I might be able to get it from Marty. You'd like that?" I grinned again. "No income tax; no cut, even—except the boys here."
So far he wasn't too impressed. He was listening, and he was greedy enough, but I hadn't stirred him up much. A while back I'd been mixed up in a deal the newspapers called the "Case of the Vanishing Beauty." I'd run across some lists of names in the possession of a guy named Narda, and remembering them a few minutes ago had given me part of an idea. I tried it out.
"Another thing, Breed. Sader's worked himself up a little deal—you might say a deal à la Mafia. You follow me? He's making dough hand over fist."
He was squinting at me. I don't know whether he was following me or ahead of me, but he was interested. I said, "He's got pushers getting the stuff out to the hypes all over town. Everything from tea to morphine. And he's making a pile. He's got a list as long as your arm of the guys pushing the stuff. That's where I come in, Breed. I can get you the list, and it'll line you up with a whole flock of hopheads. I don't know how many, but it's money in the bank."
Everybody Had A Gun Page 11